Read Online Sharpe's Revenge by Bernard Cornwell - Free Book Online Page B

A heron flapped clumsily into the air and flew southwards. A cannonball struck into Taplow’s bandsmen and Sharpe watched a blood-spattered trumpet fly into the air.
    â€˜It’ll be up to us now!’ Taplow said with immense satisfaction. ‘It’s no good relying on foreigners, Sharpe, they only cock things up. Let me salute you.’
    Sharpe suddenly realized that the irascible Taplow was offering a hand. He shook it.
    â€˜Good man!’ Taplow said. ‘Proud to know you! Sorry you didn’t take communion, though. A fellow ought to square things with the Almighty before he kills the King’s enemies. Only decent thing to do. Had you realized that your servant forgot to shave you this morning? Flog the fellow. Let me wish you well of the day now!’ Taplow galloped southwards towards his men while Sharpe sighed. The egg had taken the edge from his hunger, so he pushed the lump of salt beef back into his pouch. Sycorax dropped her head to crop at the trampled grass.
    New orders came. The southwards march was to resume, for there was clearly no advantage to be gained in assaulting the ridge’s centre now that the Spanish attack had been repulsed. Nairn said there was a hope that the Spanish would re-form and attack again, but he could offer no explanation as to why their first attack had been premature. ‘Perhaps they wanted to end the war without us?’
    Beresford’s column re-formed and trudged onwards. The French long-range cannonade continued. The men marched silently, not even singing, for they all knew that they would soon have to turn eastwards and assault the ridge. They had seen one attack bloodily repulsed, and they could guess that Marshal Soult was even now reinforcing the ridge’s southern slopes. From the city’s north and east came the dull crump of gunfire as allied cannon fired at the defences, but it was doubtful if the French would be fooled by such obvious feints. They knew the importance of the ridge, which was doubtless why its summit would prove a hellish place of trenches and batteries. The fears writhed in Sharpe, made worse by the cannonade that echoed in the sky like giant hammer blows.
    Beresford’s infantry marched for one more hour before they turned to their right to face the ridge’s southern slopes. The long march across the enemy’s front had at least brought Beresford’s men to a place that the French had not fortified. No cannons faced down these southern slopes which stretched invitingly up to the bright, pale sky. What lay beyond the horizon, though, was another matter.
    The brigades were ordered to form into three vast lines; each line consisting of two brigades arrayed just two men deep. Nairn’s men would form the right hand end of the second line. It took time to make the formation, which was a job best left to Sergeants, and so the officers stared at the empty skyline and pretended they felt no fear. The only enemy in sight, besides the occasional glimpse of an officer riding forward to stare down the slope, was a force of cavalry that spilt right down the ridge’s centre. The enemy cavalry had been sent to threaten the right flank of Beresford’s assault, but an even larger cavalry force of British and German horsemen rode to block them.
    â€˜Skirmishers forward!’ An aide cantered down the first line.
    â€˜I think we’ll put our light chaps on the flank,’ Nairn said. ‘Will you see to it, Sharpe?’
    â€˜Can I stay with them, sir?’
    Nairn hesitated, then nodded. ‘But let me know if anything threatens.’ He held out his hand. ‘Remember you’re dining with me tonight, so take care. I don’t want to write a sad letter to Jane.’
    â€˜You take care as well, sir.’
    Sharpe collected the brigade’s three Light Companies and sent them running to the right flank where they would join Frederickson’s Riflemen. As the attack advanced those